


Dimensions

by Alec_Brimstone5381



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Dimension Travel, Angel Cass turned Human, Could be classed as crack, Evil Goddesses, Fools stuck in the wrong universe, M/M, Mild Angst, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alec_Brimstone5381/pseuds/Alec_Brimstone5381
Summary: If Dean were to compare this monster spawn to any son of a bitch he'd met before, he'd compare it to Gabriel. It had the same godforsaken smirk, for one, and had a habit of messing with their heads.And their lives.Sam, Dean and Cass are transported to an alternate dimension, where the rules of their world don't quite apply. Trying to find some magical object shouldn't be this tough, but coupled with the... unusual effects this world is having on them, it takes a hell of a lot longer than they imagined.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I rated this mature, because I've no idea where this is going really, but I can pretty much guarantee it won't become as messed up as some of the sick stories on this site. XD (I'm kidding).
> 
> I'm not American, so if my grammar or spelling is incorrect, please drop me a comment. Also, I'm welcome to plot suggestions, as I haven't written in a while.

 

If Dean were to compare this monster spawn to any son of a bitch he'd met before, he'd compare it to Gabriel. It had the same godforsaken smirk, for one, and had a habit of messing with their heads, and their lives.

They'd caught up with it in Missouri about a week prior, drawn by the storm of bizarre happenings cropping up in the papers. They'd ignored the outbursts of chickenpox at first, and were reluctant at best to waste time investigating color changing automobiles, but it was really when the first kids started sprouting antlers that they thought they'd better check it out.

Here they were now: him and Sam, standing besides their 1967 Chevy Impala, 327, 4-barrel, V-8 engine. 

Which was pink.

“You dick!” Barked Dean at the shabbily dressed dude lounging across the bonnet. The guy just laughed and stuck his finger up. He made to lunge forward, fully prepared to punch the smug look off his greasy face, but was yanked back by the neck of his jacket.

“Let me at him, Sam!” He growled, struggling against his moose of a brother. “Let me rip his fuc-“

“Dean! Chill! We can paint the damn car- just- calm yourself!”

Sam released him, and Dean made a split second choice which resulted in him deciding his life wasn’t worth that desired right hook. He slumped back.

“OK you piece of crap. Wha'd'you want?”

“A little peace and quiet for starters,” drawled the man, “but a name would be nice too... how about you call me... Eris.”

Dean heard a sharp intake from his left. Probably the human encyclopaedia next to him Google searching his brain.

“Eris!” Exclaimed Sam, “Greek goddess of chaos and disorder! You’re insane!” He paused for a moment. “I thought you were a chick.”

Eris the guy-goddess quirked his head to one side, as if in curious appreciation of Sam’s knowledge. Then he began to change. It started in his chest, then, like a ripple it bubbled outwards towards his fingertips and feet, and lastly his face morphed like something out of a fantasy movie, when the witch becomes a beautiful woman. Dean had to admit this Eris chick was hot. She was all soft edges like those old Greek paintings, and long curled black hair and sharp nose. Decked out in white chiffon and gold jewellery, she looked more like what you'd expect from an ancient deity.

“I am chaos. I am the substance from which your artists and scientists build rhythms. I am the spirit with which your children and clowns laugh in happy anarchy. I am chaos. I am alive, and I tell you that you-“

“are free... “ finished Sam. He looked like all his childhood dreams had come true, the nerd.

“Ok, OK, I get it,” Said Dean, already bored. “Great big powerful God-“

“Goddess.” Corrected Sam.

“Right, Goddess yeah, but you haven't answered our question. What d'you want here? And don't give me that crap about peace and quiet: we've got half the schools in the state swarming with tiny kid Bambi’s wrecking havoc here.”

They faced each other in the parking lot, separated only by the hot pink bonnet of the impala, and the tension wrought between the three of them.

“I’m searching for something. “ Eris said finally, stiff and completely unlike the attitude she’d sported as a dude. “It’s most important to me.”

Sam frowned as if he were trying to remember something. 

“Nada?” 

“I got nothing.” Grumbled Sam.

It was at that point that Cass turned up. There was a whoosh of feathers and suddenly he was standing next to them with his deep growl of a voice.

“Do you require my assistance?” 

Eris looked amused, but Dean could see the hint of fear in the crease of her brow.

“Great timing Cass.” Dean said.

“Was that... sarcasm?”

“Nah, we’re serious Cass,” piped in Sam, “We could use a hand."

Dean could swear he heard Cass mumbling under his breath: ‘what do they need my hands for?, but he ignored it in favour of watching in horror as Eris waved her hands around in midair. Dean panicked.

“Cass! Get us out of here! She’s making some kind of magic portal crap!” 

That's sure what it looked like, what with the glittering, purple, swirly thing in midair that had begun to suck in nearby objects, including a trash can and several fluttering magazines from the dashboard. Dean stumbled backwards, busty Asian beauties streaming past his face into the void. 

“What are you waiting for Cass!” He yelled against the force of the wind.

“I’m trying to contain the blast range!”

Eris howled with mirth, looking every part the goddess of chaos.

“Cass...!!!” Warned Sam just as the ground gave way beneath them, and they were hurled into oblivion.

As he was blacking out, Dean heard a voice in the storm.

“Find it.” It hissed.


	2. Mud Baths and Mayhem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's read this far! I'm still working on illustrations, so when I'm done, I'll start putting them up!

When Dean came to, he was lying in a muddy ditch at the side of a road. Say what you will about waking up in muddy ditches, and Dean’s had his fair share of occasions, but this was by far the worst. It stunk like high heaven for starters, and when Dean shifted his arm it came away with a sucking noise, covered in muck. He pulled himself out with a grim face, scanning his surroundings.

There was a grunt from the other side of the road, and Sam clambered up over the side.

“This is shit.” He stated.

“Do you mean our situation or the stuff dripping off us, cos I was never optimistic about it to start with, but I'm really thinking it might be actual shit now.” 

Sam gave him a look.

“And where’s Cass anyway? Don't tell me he's abandoned us in this wasteland.” As if on que, there was a pained groan from behind one of the stone walls bordering the track, and a muddied hand flung itself over the top.

“Tell me that's Cass and not a zombie.” Sam said warily. A second hand joined the first and with another, frankly unnecessary groan, Cass's head popped up over the boundary. “Thank God,” mumbled Sam, “I was so not in the mood.”

They assembled in the center of the track, dripping slime and gunge onto the dry dirt. Happily, Dean realized he’d got the best deal of the lot, being less coated in mud, and felt smugly justified in pointing this out to the others. He was met with stony glares.  
After a quick scramble around the area, they concluded that not only had they lost all their weapons, but their phones, fake Ids and pretty much everything that wasn’t sewn onto their clothing itself. Oh- and Cass had lost his angel mojo.

“So, we’re screwed.” Blurted Dean.

“It does appear to be that way.” Agreed Cass unhelpfully. “I suggest we follow this road and search for aid.”

“Yeah, which would be so much easier if I had my car! Pink or not!”

“I fail to see how the color of- “ 

Their bickering was cut off by the growl of an engine in the distance, and the smell of petrol approaching. Half a mile in the distance, a car was approaching over the crest of a hill.

“Bingo.” Said Dean.

 

They hitch hiked in the mini for several hours, the driver being reluctant to take them anywhere in the state they were in, but not quite cruel enough to abandon them in the middle of nowhere, 45 miles apparently, from the nearest civilization. They must have looked a right sight, three tall, grown men crushed together in the back seat. Sam had suggested that they move some of the boxes from the front to the boot to make room in the passenger seat, but the old man just shrugged and said the boot was just as full, so that put a stop to that idea. Not only was Dean slammed uncomfortably against the side door, hoping against hope that it didn't spring open, but the driver reeked of cigarettes and stale beer. His body odor was practically pungent, and it made Dean want to hurl. Cass looked pretty queasy too.

As the driver rattled on in his poor excuse for a vehicle, the three of them had a whispered conversation in the backseat.

“So where the hell are we?” Hissed Dean under his breath.

“I don’t know, but it’s worrying me.” Replied Sam anxiously. “Its not just the fact that we’ve been portaled somewhere, a forgotten goddess like her should not have been able to do anything like that, let alone remove Cass’s powers.”

“I agree Sam. I feel much weakened here. I have my suspicions, and they are that we may not be on earth.”

“What?!” Dean felt a twinge of panic for the first time since they arrived here. Sure, he’d been zapped places before, both with and without his consent, but to another freaking planet? That was a no. Cass stayed silent after that.

Since they had no plans, they decided to find a place to crash for the night and pick up the trail in the morning. The rest of the journey was spent in tense silence, all of them freaked but too prideful to admit it.

Therefore, it was a tremendous relief, (though he’d never admit it) when they were finally let out in a large town called Craigton. The guy drove off after giving them directions to the nearest cheap motel, but they had no cash anyway, so they instead headed off in search of the first bar they could, stumbling in to try and cheat some poker.

“Please excuse me,” grumbled Cass as they stepped into the warmth, and he marched off in the direction of the bathroom. Dean couldn't blame him. Most of the gunge had dried off or crusted over on the journey, but Cass had got a face full, and there were still smears around his nose and in his eyebrows.

“Poor guy,” Said Sam sympathetically, “must be tough losing his powers again.”

Dean grunted his regards. 

He was eternally grateful that poker existed in this universe, since Dean didn't think he could have coped teaching a bunch of useless aliens the rules of the game, only to cheat them out of their money. So sue him- he did have some conscience.

As it was, it didn't take long to ramp up the bets and score a tidy sum, plus a couple of beers on the house. Instead of being pissed, a lot of the locals were actually pretty impressed with his talents, saying they didn't get a lot of newcomers around there. Dean basked in their attention and had to be dragged away by Sam before he got carried away and started drunk bragging about wasting vampires. God, he could imagine how that would have gone down.

Following the directions from the driver, and with several hundred dollars tucked safely into the waistband of his jeans, it was easy enough to stagger into a motel and book a room. The stay was for as long as they needed, and although they didn't plan to hang around long, Dean had a feeling they were gonna be stuck here a while. They'd need some more cash soon.

The suite was disgusting, but what can you expect on a budget? The sheets were pale yellow, like baby puke, and the curtains alone were enough to give him pastel nightmares for weeks. It had three separate beds though, which was more than could be said for the other vacancies.

“Why couldn't we have booked the double room?” Frowned Cass.

“Well, I figured with your angel mojo zapped, you’d be needing some shut eye, and I dunno about you Cass, but I'm not too keen on sharing sheets.”  
“The other room was cheaper.”

“Hey, hey, if you wanna share, no need to make excuses,” Dean winked sleazily, “I’m always free.”

“Ugh gross Dean.” Yelled Sam from the bathroom. 

Cass stood in the center of the room uncomfortably for a long moment, then he turned to Dean and said,  
“I’m going out.”

“Knock yourself out.” Replied Dean. He couldn't care less what Cass got up too, as long as he didn't put himself in unnecessary danger. Being human had its benefits, and drawbacks, and Cass’s vulnerability was not gonna do much for Dean’s stress levels.

Cass left quickly after, though he looked so unused to using the lock and door handle that Dean almost offered to go with him, just to save him the hassle. 

“Shit. I’m tired.” He exclaimed, as soon as the door slammed shut. “I guess godly teleporting knocks you out like that.” 

Sam re-entered the room, a towel draped across his shoulders. His hair was still dripping from the mud-removal shower.  
“What time is it anyway?” Sam asked. “It was midmorning where we were, but that bar was bursting.”

Dean turned over the clock on the bedside table.

“It's six in the evening.” He said, surprised. “That's just weird.”

“Huh.” Agreed Sam.

Dean considered taking a nap, but by the time he made himself comfortable with the pillows, he suddenly felt wide awake. Checking the clock again, it read 6:45. Hardly any time had passed. Sam was still flitting through the leaflets and brochures from the sideboard.

“Wanna take a walk?” Dean asked. Sam looked up from his browsing, surprised. 

“Sure, why not?”

They locked the room up behind them and made their way towards the high street and shops. It was still light for the evening, which was another strange thing, as back home the season would have meant night fell at at least five. The area was pretty quiet, but the restaurants and big places were still lit with lights. Sam drank it all in, turning to stare at everything from the place signs to the lampposts. Dean just sauntered along, glad for the fresh air, until Sam froze.

“Hey... Dean. I think I recognize this place.” Said Sam slowly. “Remember Springfield, Missouri?”

“Yeah...” replied Dean. “With the banshees?”

“Yeah. Does that chip shop look familiar to you?”

Dean squinted at the faded sign, which read ‘Chip in for chips.’ There was something familiar in the streaked door and plastic yellow chairs perched on the pavement.

“I think we're in Springfield. But, alternate universe Springfield.” Finished Sam.

“More like an alternate dimension entirely.” Countered Cass from behind them. Dean jumped.

“Dude! A little warning next time!?”

“Where've you been?” Asked Sam, “And what do you mean alternate dimension? I've been stuck in time loops before and this seems pretty damn similar.”

“I've been scouting the area.” Cass spoke in his usual monotonous voice. “We appear to be on a different platform of reality entirely. This is no mere vision like the one Dean had.”

Cass must be referring to the time he was stuck in no-monster-ville. That was kind of pleasant at first, identical in every way to their world. Same people, same places: just a different story. This Springfield lookalike was different now that he thought about it... The street structure was different, the shops and sign names held a tinge of familiarity but were different, and Dean would bet his entire fortune (which was, admittedly, very little right now), that not one person was the same as in their universe. Or dimension- whatever. Cass had a point.

“So, what does that mean?”  
“It means it can’t be manipulated or bent to our will. This place has its own life energy. We are not only trapped by the demon goddess, we have been transported a great distance. I believe that is why my grace has no power here.”  
“We’re in a world with no angels?”  
“Yes.”  
“So we're stuck here? “  
“Yes.”  
“I still don't get it,” Said Sam blearily, “You're telling me that, what- we’re on a completely different planet?”  
“In theory... “ hummed Cass, rubbing the back of his neck in that embarrassed way of his. “But it has strong connections to our own. Like the chip shop. Our dimensions are joined but do not depend on each other; we will find little patterns to our own universe here. We must be on guard.”  
“Well that's just great.” Grumbled Dean sarcastically.  
“I do not understand-“  
“What's new.” Dean interrupted.  
The annoyed look Sam gave him was harsh, but then again, he did just cut off an innocent, confused angel mid question. OK... Now he was feeling the guilt.  
“I only meant... that this is gonna be... Uh. A great new experience.”  
The hopeful look Cass gave him was totally worth it.


	3. Beta?

They got back late, and clambered into bed soon after. Cass hadn’t eaten his food from earlier, and he took one look at his bed and walked past to perch on a chair.

“I thought you were human.” Dean from beneath the covers.

“Not exactly, I still have a little grace left from containing that blast. I just cannot replenish it here.”

“Don't you wanna sleep now and save the juice you have left?”

“I don't possess any juice- . You mean, my powers. It wouldn't make a difference.”

“Shuddup,” hissed Sam from across the room. “This ain’t a girls sleepover- let me get some rest.”

“Night-night Sammy!” Grinned Dean, “See you in the morning!”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

 

 

In the morning, Dean had one of those cliché moments where he had no idea where he was, then got that horrible sinking feeling when he realized. He groaned and stretched, seeing Cass still sat stiffly in the corner. 

The woman who came to change their sheets gave them all a funny look, to which Dean pulled a face at behind her back. It made Sam snort with childish laughter.

After a few hours lounging around on the beds and poking about in the wardrobes (which were stuffed with a ridiculous number of spare pillows), it was time to stop putting off the inevitable conversation.

“So... What's the plan?” Sam questioned eventually.

The three of them slumped in reluctant silence. There really wasn’t much of a choice when it came down to it, but none of them wanted to be the one to state the obvious. Dean cracked first.

“We find it.”

“That's the problem.” Replied Sam in frustration. “find what?”

“We all heard her, yeah? I’m guessing her vague Mumbo-Jumbo parting words mean that whatever we’ve been thrown in to find, it'll be obvious. Or else she’d have been more specific right?”

“Unless she never expected us to achieve anything and has trapped us here for all eternity.” Grumbled Sam under his breath.

Cass stared blankly at the pink wall.

“Look,” continued Dean “Best plan? We wander round till we find whatever the hell it is.”

“No way dude!” Sam objected bluntly. “That's a crap plan. I know this goddess- this thing, it's on the tip of my tongue. Just give me some Wi-Fi and we can sort this shit out. Plan it like a proper hunt.”

“Cass?”

“I’m inclined to believe Sam's plan has more merit.”

“Way to go, dude. Fine. But don't expect me to hang around here in pastel heaven whilst you guys rot your brain cells. I’m out.”

He shrugged on his jacket and left the motel room, Cass and Sam behind. So they were stuck here, Dean realized, for an unnamed length of time. Whereas this morning he’d been crazy to bust out, he was kind of accommodating to the idea (Maybe it was the coffee). For once, he wasn't too hyped up about the hunt. If Eris wanted them dead, she wouldn’t have teleported them away on a secret mission. Besides, who knew how the time-loop differed here. They could spend months in la-la land and still get back before lunch. Dean decided to take a fresh approach to this experience; call it a holiday. Alternate dimensions? Bring it on.

It took him less than ten minutes to sniff out the nearest greasy diner and order a huge slice of apple pie. The waitress who served him was blonde and pretty, with pouty lips. Her perfume smelt like flowery crap, but it was alluring in a way that most cheap bottled scents weren’t. Dean flashed her a wink as he squirted cream onto his plate, and although she smirked back, when he tried to get her number before he left, she just laughed and said:

“Sorry baby, but betas ain’t my type.”

Dean frowned at the reference he didn't get (and he was the king of references), but decided to leave it at that, remembering only shortly afterwards that he didn't have a phone anyway. He'd have to fix that.

To burn more time, he found a park and wandered aimlessly about. It was mostly quiet for 2 in the afternoon, parents and toddlers milling about before school pickup, but Dean was more distracted starring longingly at the used car dealership across the road. If only.

When he eventually made his way back at about three, Cass was mysteriously missing again, and Sam was still hunched over a rented laptop.

“Find anything?” Grunted Dean, slamming the door shut behind him.

“It's tricky,” lamented Sam, “thank god this world has Wi-Fi, but the mythology's messed up in this world- I’m just trying to find anything that triggers my memory.” He clicked around some more and opened a couple of tabs. Dean collapsed onto his mattress. Loud growling suddenly erupted from Sam's stomach.

“Room service.” They agreed.

The motel menu was limited, but at least it existed: most places they stayed in didn't provide the luxury. Thankfully, it included the essentials, so 20 minutes later they were waiting on burgers and beer, an extra portion on the side in case Cass showed up hungry in his newly human body. It didn't take long, and there was a quick knock on the door. The grumpy woman from the morning wheeled in a trolley laden with snacks, and Dean hopped up to help her unload. As his fingers brushed against her wrist, she froze.

“I thought you were a beta,” she hushed, “but you're not are you?”

That was the second time someone had brought that word up today, and Dean got the feeling he was missing something big: like there was some huge chunk of this dimension that was slipping round the edges of his mind. Did everyone in this place watch the same mandatory TV show or something?

“What do you mean?” Dean puzzled aloud. He may have come out a bit more aggressive than he meant, because the woman jolted and took a few steps back towards the door.

“Hey, hey- wait! Look, call me dumb, whatever, just could you explain what-“

“What's up?” Asked Sam, poking his head round the bathroom door.

“I just want to know what the flip people mean when they call me a flipping beta!” Dean griped.

“Beta? The measure of volatility? I'd say they're justified, Dean, you’re pretty volatile right now.” Sam warned. “Are you alright madam?”

She’d paused in the doorway, wrinkled fingers gripping the silver handle of the trolley tray.

“You boys are really not from around here are you.”

“Uhh. We’re foreigneers.” Improvised Sam.

“Yes, yes…” Quivered the old lady.

Dean and Sam poised in position, waiting for answers. It was a justice to how messed up their lives were that they didn’t move an inch; still as stone, trained fighters.

The lady must have picked up on it too, because she took another step back towards the doorway, and when she spoke, she addressed the patch of wall behind them.

“See a doctor. It might help you.” 

Then she was gone, trolley in tow. Dean figured getting more answers want worth the prison sentence he might get for harassing a senior citizen.

“Huh.” Said Sam, “She really bothered you that much?”

“You don’t understand!” Snapped Dean, still worked up. “People have been calling me a goddamn beta all freaking day. It just feels like- I dunno, were missing something big here.”

“well… if you say so.” Sam was giving him that look again, the sympathetic ‘I don’t get your weird reasoning, but I’ll humor you because I’m nice’ and it was seriously grating on his nerves.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Replied Sam calmly, as if he had no clue.

“Are we gonna leave it or phone the damn doctors and figure this shit out?”

Sam looked as if he was going to make some cocky joke, but then paused and thought for a moment, brow furrowed.

“I mean, if it’s a medical issue here, then it’s probably important right?” A tint of worry entered Sam’s voice. Trust Sam and his hypochondriac tendencies to tip the scales.

They ended up booking three appointments, just to be sure they were all medically sound. Sam was hyperventilating about different oxygen levels in the alien atmosphere or something and Cass was glaring at the wall. Dean just hoped they’d get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, but it should pick up soon. I'm a bit of a slow writer, so sorry about the waits. Please continue to point out any errors or inconsistencies. :)


	4. Doctor's Appointment

Dean hated hospitals: ever since he almost died, and spent days traipsing round one, unseen and battling death. So yeah, this wasn’t his idea of a great time. He understood it was important though, if they wanted to finally understand what was up with this world. The waiting room was torture: an hour wasting time with sniffling children and cabbage stinking old people, clutching canes and tissues.

When the first appointment was finally called in, it was Sam, and he went off down the corridor without a fuss. Dean suddenly realized that they didn’t even need to book three separate appointments, one quick chat could have this all cleared up in minutes. In their panicked fear of the unknown, they’d gone and triple booked. Dean was about to sneak back out through the automatic doors when there was a beeping and his name, (fake name: Dean Roark) flashed up on the screen. 

‘Please see Mr. Ditasshy in room 6b.’

Before he knew it, his feet were taking him out through the waiting room and down the carpeted corridor. He heard himself knock on the door, and a voice call:

“Enter.”

He pushed open the door sauntered in. Spreading himself out onto the patient chair, he reverted to his safety settings: aloofness and sass.  
The doctor was bespectacled, with thinning black hair and tanned features. Perched on the edge of his desk chair, be clicked away on an ancient computer, tapping his pen with his other hand.

“Dean Roach? Is that correct?”

“Yeah.” Snapped Dean shortly. This experience was already way out of his comfort zone. The doctor turned his head to glance over him briefly then returned to typing away.

“My name is Dr. Ditasshy. Do you mind if I take some routine checks? Just blood pressure and heart rate.”

“No. I mean- yeah. Fine.”

Ditasshy pulled a plastic-y band from his drawer which was connected to a long rubber wire and small box shaped screen. Instructing Dean to roll up his sleeve, he used the Velcro top strap it round his upper arm and pressed a beeping button.

“Tell me if it starts to hurt.” He said.

Dean could feel the fabric constricting around his arm, crushing the flesh and blood. When he began to feel the thump of his pulse, hammering beneath the band, he started to panic, and was about to rip it off when the pressure suddenly released. The doctor un-velcroed it methodically and checked the results. It was over. He felt dumb for freaking.

“A little high for a man your age. Not too much to worry about. Could you tell me a bit about your current diet? Alcohol consumption?” He hummed.

“Uh. Well. I always have a few beers. Maybe 5 or 6 on average?”

“Is that every week?”

“Nah. Day.”

The doctor typed quickly into his file.

“You realize that excessive alcohol consumption can help cause blood pressure issues and can lead to liver failure. I’m going to take some other tests now, to check the health of your organs.”

Dean thought he should cut to the chase. He didn't give a crap about the health of his organs- frankly because he never expected to live long enough for any of the negative effects to shine through. He was getting pretty pissed. This intervention felt like a direct attack on his lifestyle: the one thing he could choose to enjoy in his godforsaken existence.

“I suppose you're gonna tell me to quit eating crap as well?” He growled.

Dr Ditasshy just added another paragraph to the novel he was writing.

“My medical advice to you would be, yes, to cut down on fatty and sugary foods for the time being. If I book you another appointment for a month from now, I’d like to catch up on progress then. If you could just take your top off. I’d like to check- "

“Ok! Let’s cut the crap here.” Interrupted Dean in anger. “I’m not here to chat about my dietary choices. I'll here to find out what the hell is supposedly wrong with me in this freaking universe!”

The doctor peered at him over his spectacles. He seemed to be evaluating Dean's mental stability, and Dean couldn’t calm himself enough to give a shit. He was practically jumping out of his seat to leave here. 

Eventually the man stopped staring and began to fiddle with his pen again. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I’m sorry if I've made assumptions,” He apologized, “I appreciate you coming to see us about your concerns. Would you be comfortable just answering some questions for me? Nothing difficult.”

“Fine.” Dean reluctantly agreed, promising himself burgers and fries after this ordeal, just to congratulate himself on bearing through it.

The doctor breezed through a number of easy questions after that, most of which Dean had absolutely no holdups lying about: his parents lived in New York. No, he had not been in any major accidents recently. His middle name was Gareth.

“And what is your designation?” Asked the doctor. “I apologize if this is a sensitive subject for you, but it's essential this is recorded in medical files.”

“My what?” Replied Dean, stumped.

“Your designation, if you don't mind.” Dr. Ditasshy peered up from his scribblings and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Either Dean was being incredibly dense here, or this is what they’d come for. He cut to the chase.

“I've no idea what you're on about, man.” He said bluntly. At this point Dean had to give the guy kudos for not sighing in exasperation- he was a real professional.

“Did you present as Alpha, Beta or Omega? My Scent’s a little rusty: old beta. So, please. I promise we have no pre-conceived notions here.”  
Yep- this is what they’d come here for.

“Yeah, well. Funny thing that.” Dean began, “See, that's kinda why I'm here. I think I have a bit of a hiccup with my uh... Alpha-beta-omegerism? And yep. I uh. ... Have amnesia! So, I don't remember what any of that shit means.”

The doctor was quiet for a long, long moment.

“Alright then,” He said.

 

 

When Dean left the doctor’s practice, a freaking hour later and clutching handfuls of leaflets, he was practically fuming at the mouth. Ditasshy fuck-smashy! That dick.

 

“Sammy!!” He bellowed, as soon as he spotted his brother leaning against the wall outside. “Never again!” He spat. “Never again!”

Sam took one look at his pained face and burst out laughing.

“Dude, you were in there forever. What were you chatting about? Feelings?”

“Shut the fuck up and don't ever mention this again.” Growled Dean and kicked the wall in frustration “Where’s Cass?”

“Ha, ha,” Chortled Sam “He's been in there even longer than you. Knowing him, the doctor's probably in the process of explaining to him what a penis is.”  
He had a fair point- but that was not the point!

“Tell me,” Snapped Dean, “That you got the same damn leaflets I did.”

Sam stopped choking on laughter and went serious.

“Yeah, yeah, I read them.”

“Well then: shit.” Dean said, “Thank God we don't actually live here.”

“Yeah, this is one messed up world.”

 

 

They hung around and waited for Cass, who was only another ten minutes, but emerged looking like a volcano had blown up in his face. Meaning, that he was blushing fit to burst. Dean took one glance into his terrified eyes and decided to back off on the jokes for the time being.

Walking back to their rooms just seemed to make Dean more pissed than he already was. He could be cruising off in his baby right now, speeding away from his problems with one push of the gas pedal and a hallelujah! Instead he was sandwiched between his dick brother and a mortally embarrassed angel, walking down an alien pavement after being told that, apparently, everyone in this fucked up place, well, is forced to be fucked up.

He took a long, scorching shower after stomping his way into the motel, then spent most of the day slouching around watching daytime TV. He yelled when the poor excuse for a father, Simon, couldn't tell that his wife was having an affair with his hairdresser, who also happened to be his secret, non-identical twin.

After Sam had collapsed into a snoring mess on his mattress, and Cass had left for “nighttime ventures and further research”, Dean slipped the leaflets, which he'd “forgotten” to throw out, from his jacket pocket, and reread the words. Not that any amount of brain bleach could erase them now. God no. This horror was gonna be seared into the very foundations of his brain tissue till the day he died. Nevertheless, he flicked through the pages again, alone, in the dark, and tried to make sense of it all.

So there were men. And women, yeah. He got that. But there are also kind of second genders. 3 in fact, which added up to... six possible combinations? That's what they called the alphas and betas and stuff. He’d heard the terms before, in a way, when they were under the control of Crowley, capturing the alpha leaders of the packs. From what the leaflets seemed to be implying, this was sort of the same thing. Alphas were dominant beefy types, betas were about as close to “normal” as you could get, and Omega's... were submissive. Dean didn't really want to think much about what that meant in depth, but if that were him, he didn't think it sounded very pleasant.

He'd been crowned “invalided” at the doctor's, which Dean took offence to. Apparently over here, that was pretty rare, and meant he was infertile, amongst other supposed symptoms such as being unresponsive to people's emotions and mood swings. Personally, Dean reckoned he could accurately fish out when Sam’s hissy fits were coming on with a quick glance at his brothers face, and though he'd never got it checked out, he took offence to the claim that his sperm were not up for the job. Ditasshy was a bitch all right.

Turning a page, he tried not to rustle too much as he read an entry about common problems. It was chock-a-block with cheesy lines such as “It is perfectly natural for your heats to sync up with close friends or relatives! Please contact your local GP if you have further concerns.” And “If your sex drive is becoming unmanageable, please call this helpline:”. Dean felt distressed in a way in which he hadn’t since 1991, when Sam told him that the shampoo he'd used that morning was actually rougarou gunge from the hunt the night before. Like Sam had said earlier, this world was seriously messed up.

 

Dean woke up to a voice in his head.  
“So, you’re an omega.” It said, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sam’s. “You may have been expecting this, or maybe not. We’re here to help you sort out any doubts or questions you may have about this incredible topic.  
‘What does it mean to be submissive? Well, in simplest terms, it means that you are capable of bearing children, and are responsive to others commands, especially in bed-“

Okay, maybe the voice wasn’t in his head after all. He opened one eye blearily.

“Sam!!!”

 

Sam was ordered to the second-hand shop to pick up some clothes with the little money they had left. He’d laughed as Dean yelled at him to get out, and just flung the leaflet onto the coffee table before leaving. 

Dean was left alone in the leaflet filled room. 

He paced a bit, then put his feet up on the coffee table. Took them down. Glared at his face in a mirror. Sharpened his weapons. Paced again, reached out to snag one of the leaflets and-

“Hello Dean.”

“Shit! Fuuu—”

Dean dropped the booklet and spun round. Freaking angel footsteps, even without his mojo, Cass was as silent as a dead body (and he meant the real dead bodies: not zombies, cos they were noisy).

Then Dean stopped thinking because Cass was standing right in front of him wearing only a towel, obviously just out of the bath. It wasn’t the ‘just a towel’ part which was a problem though; it was the fact that amongst all the other things his friend was clueless about, he seemed not to know how to use a goddamn towel as well.

It looked like he was wearing a very fluffy toga. It was kind of draped over one shoulder and wrapped round the waist. Dean had no doubts that it was supposed to come down to his knees at least or something, but the thing about hotel towels was that they’re not exactly known for being large. It dropped to just above his mid-thighs and Dean just thanked whatever heavens this place had that it wasn’t any shorter.

“Cass… That’s not how you use a towel buddy.”

“They used them like this in ancient Rome.” Replied Cass, hitching the corner up slightly; Dean winced. “Admittedly they were not so… textured, or exactly this shape.”

“Yeah, well you’re supposed to put it round your waist.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah like that- wait! Stop! Don’t drop the- it’s fine. That’s fine Cass, just leave it.”

 

Dean had seen his brother naked enough times not to be freaked out by nudity, but there was something about Cass being stark nude in front of him, that made him uncomfortable. Maybe it was the angel of the lord thing: it just seemed so morally wrong? Like he was committing some blasphemy by allowing it to happen at all. He shook that train of thought from his head, and reached over to chuck Cass’s clothes at him, which he really should have realized were there earlier. Then, as Cass disappeared back into the bathroom (at Dean’s insistence), he scrunched up the leaflets and chucked them into the bin for good. They had just been making him uncomfortable anyway.

 

When Sam came back, lugging a carrier bag with some shirts, socks and underwear in it, Dean had almost forgiven him for his wake-up call, and besides, he’d cooled his head a bit teaching Cass how to play poker. They had a pack of cards which had been in Dean’s jacket pocket spread out on the floor, since there’d been no room on any surface, and were using loose coins to substitute as chips.

 

“Any good?” Inquired Sam, shrugging his coat off and dumping the stuff.

“Surprisingly not bad.” Hummed Dean in concentration. “I think it’s the face- shows no emotion, y’know.”

“Huh. Well I know what Eris wants.”

“What?” Said Dean, head snapping up.

“You have single handedly found the item required to send us back?” Piped Cass hopefully.

“Umm. No. But it came to me. She’s known to have a golden apple. That has to be it. It’s the only item I know of associated with her.”

“Wait- so you’re telling me this chick, what, was munching on her apple, dropped it accidently into another universe, was like: ‘Oh Shoot! There goes my fave snack!’, throws a hissy fit in Missouri, then chucks us in after to go fetch it?”

Sam gives him a pained look, but nods. 

“If you want to put it like that. Then yeah, I reckon.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard then.”

He wins the poker game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far. I'll definitely see about adding some illustrations soon. Thank you for the reviews- very inspiring!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This is just the intro, so look out for more chapters. If you would like to see some illustrations, then just ask and I'll rustle up some drawings for you!


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